Shards
by paradoxical
Summary: ( Draco, Hermione ) Two students are not as perfect as people perceive them to be.


**Shards**  
  
Author: Reese  
Rating: R  
Chapter(s): 1  
Summary: Two students are not as perfect as people perceive them to be.  
  
Etc: Dark. Religious references. Fragmented sentences. Morbid.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .  
  
_Mudblood to have outdone a Malfoy?  
  
Pathetic.   
  
Ungrateful son._  
  
Lucius Malfoy removed a handkerchief from his breast pocket and wiped away the glaring crimson on the surface of his polished cane. His eyes, cold and fierce, dared to glance at his son. His. He sneered. The boy was a shame to the family--the Malfoy family, a family of which perfection was essential. His harsh, grey eyes scanned over the pale boy's body, illuminated in moonlight, the open wounds on his back glaring at him with malice. Such pretty wounds.  
  
Red was a rather delicious colour.  
  
The son got to his knees after many minutes worth of trying; it was as far as he got, as he attempted to look over his shoulder and look back at the Father with the pride of a Malfoy. Never contempt. Oh, no. For that would be betraying the man who helped beget him--betraying a man who condemned you under his wing.  
  
A look of disgust passed over the Father's aristocratic features. His nose seemed more prominent, his cheekbones sharper, his eyes--oh god, his eyes--seemed murderous and penetrating.  
  
Do not let yourself fall behind a simpleton. I expect a lesser disappointment this year, Draco.  
  
The boy, kneeling on the lush carpet, nodded and coughed up blood.  
  
The copper, metallic taste of blood.  
  
It was revolting; Lucius loved it.  
  
_Merlin ..._  
  
The man in expensive dress robes turned on his heels and walked out of the parlor with an elegent sweep.  
  
The boy dropped his weight on the floor, his body eagle-spread.  
  
_Have mercy on me._  
  
* *  
  
_Top scores again. Honey, that's great._  
  
Hermione watched the greens and blues fly by, a blur to her vision.  
  
_But perhaps you could do even better?_  
  
Her fists clenched around the farewell roses.  
  
_This is from your father. He wishes you a good year at school and hopes to see you exceed last year's scores. Make us proud, Hermione. Make us proud._  
  
It was a nightmare the way her mother's voice followed her everywhere.  
  
_Perfect home. Perfect family. Perfect daughter.  
  
Perfect _teeth.  
  
The little things made up the Granger family. Small things that seemed larger than life.  
  
The thorns dug into her skin, puncturing her. She bled--oh, how she bled.  
  
So red. So beautiful. So perfect.  
  
So like her.  
  
* *  
  
He looked up from his Transfiguration paper to look at the filthy Mudblood across the room. Her bushy hair cascaded over her shoulders. Merlin, how he hated her. Hated her little nervous quirks--the way she nibbled on her bottom lip or her fingernails or the way she, absently, twirled a strand of her hair around her middle finger. Hated the way she studied to the top. Hated the way she perfected herself to _be_ perfect.  
  
The Mudblood stood from her seat and deposited her paper on Professor McGonagall's desk.  
  
_Failure is not an option_.  
  
He dug his quill into his paper. All frustrations went into that simple pressure ... ink stains on white perfection ... until the feather-light quill snapped in half. He looked down and scowled. Taking the piece of parchment into his hands, he ripped it apart, watching Hermione's eyes of brown purity look at him, as the simple tearing echoed in the silent room.  
  
This is you, he mouthed with a cruel smirk.  
  
But she wasn't looking at him.  
  
She was looking at the parchment that were shredded by his own two hands.  
  
Ripped apart from what was once whole.  
  
Imperfect.  
  
* *  
  
_Wouldn't you like a haircut? Perhaps you could do with a different look this year, Hermione.  
  
_Hermione stared back at her reflection.  
  
She was beautiful in an ugly, twisted way.  
  
Bushy hair. Fair complexion. Brown eyes. Lithe figure.  
  
Nothing special.  
  
Just plain.  
  
_Why must you always buy these thick robes? I think a nice form-fitting one would be nice.  
  
I think Harry would like it. Or Ron, is it? They'll love you.  
  
They already love me.  
  
Or do they?  
  
They're in love with my intelligence.  
  
They'll love me more if I study harder.  
  
Only study.  
  
I must stay perfect.  
  
Perfectperfectperfect._  
  
Broken glass lay at her feet.  
  
* *  
  
He peered inside the bathroom.  
  
Hermione Granger stood there in the middle of broken glass. A familiar burgundy seeped out of her clenched fists.  
  
What sort of predicament have you got into now, Mudblood? he smirked. Never knew you for the clumsy type. Of course, I suppose I wouldn't blame you. After all, you're really rather repulsive.  
  
She spun on her heel to walk towards him with fierce determination.  
  
Raising an open palm above him, he couldn't help but flinch.  
  
Just a little.  
  
Memories did that to a person.  
  
But her hand never came down forcefully like he expected it to. Instead, she wiped the ugly, glaring red on his pale, perfect face.  
  
Tainting him with something not-quite-pure.  
  
She sneered, And so are you.  
  
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . _numb_ by linkin park  
  
Perfection scares me now.  
  
I realise Hermione seems a bit ... out-of-character ... but I wanted to portray her in such a way that she isn't as strong-willed or perfect as she lets on and, like everyone else, has insecurities. Maybe her parents are really nice, but I wanted to taint their image a little. This was my little take on why she is the way she is. And as for Draco? Well, his life seems a bit open to interpretation.  
  
Ugh. I hate how ffNET did away with the numerous page breaks.


End file.
